crown and anchor me or let me sail away
by jonimitchell
Summary: He thinks it's her turn to give in. Future.


**This is a Christmas present for Jenna! Dedicated to the usuals, I don't own these characters, and I'm very sorry whatever pain this may cause you.**

I.

He's not, you know, _dumb_ or anything. Like, he kinda got over that stigma in college, and he's with a woman who never, ever calls him stupid or anything (and believe it or not a lot of women have called him that in his life). So, yeah, he's not dumb, he's pretty smart, actually.

He can feel it. The distance stretching like miles between them and he hasn't felt so lost to her since they graduated high school and lived in completely separate world. It's kinda funny in a really terrifying way, you know, that he's more distant from her now as his wife than he was when she broke up with him for the first time.

It's just—he's so mad at her. He's never, ever been so mad at her in his entire life, and she's mad at him, and he can't even bring himself to like, try and talk it out or hug it out (which is Rachel's favorite method) or anything.

But he's just – he's just _so_ mad. And it isn't really her fault except, you know…it is her fault. Because she's so goddamn selfish, and he's been pretty good at giving into her this whole marriage, and he barely ever asks her for anything, and—

"Daddy?" Sophie's pressing her tiny little hands on his cheeks. "Why you not with Mama?"

He sighs, says, "I fell asleep out here, is all."

"Oh. Daddy…breakfast?"

He glances at the clock hanging opposite the television and sighs. It's barely eight in the morning, and usually on Saturday mornings, Rachel takes Sophie out for breakfast or something at the Ritz and they can't really fucking afford that but she does it anyway.

"Is Mama not taking you today?" He's already standing and padding into the kitchen with Sophie twirling around behind him, and she's honestly the cutest little thing.

He picks her up and sets her on the counter, which Rachel really hates (but he does it anyway) and he puts on the radio and makes her pancakes, her favorite. She tells him a very garbled story from preschool but he nods along like it's a reading from _Harry Potter_, which is what he's reading to her at night.

Sophie's the smartest kid he knows. Like, she talks so fast her words are all jumbled together but they're still, like, words, and the talking fast gene is from Rachel. And he's gotten to see her development, you know, because he's the one who's been home with her, the stay at home parent and now—

He's getting mad again, and he doesn't wanna think about that when Sophie's right in front of him, kicking her feet back and forth and saying something about her best friend Kate.

Midway through his pancake-making, the door to their bedroom opens and Rachel comes out, wearing his shirt with bare legs and her hair up and he fucking _hates_ her for being so damn cute when he's as mad at her as he is.

"Hi," she says, surprised, and she slips past him into the kitchen to kiss Sophie's forehead. "No breakfast today, Soph?"

Sophie shrugs and wraps her arms around Rachel's neck, and Rachel doesn't even say anything to him or kiss him like she used to and his heart _aches_. He wants to fix it, he does, but he's done all the fixing in their relationship so far, and he thinks it's her turn to give in.

Breakfast is tense. He makes Rachel toast on this gross gluten free bread because she's on a gluten free diet for some reason and she's trying to get him and Sophie on board, but pizza, man. But like, he'll stare at Rachel and she'll look at him and he'll look away and, god, it's so awkward and things have never been so horribly awkward between them.

He wants it to change. But he's too damn proud.

II.

It started with little things, you know. A missed date, she wanted to go out and he wanted to stay in, him being busy with substitute jobs and Sophie and her being busy with her show. And they've just—they've just grown apart. He doesn't really remember the last time they kissed longer than a chaste peck on the mouth in the evenings, or the last time she watched a football game with him.

They're growing apart, and they're fighting, and it all just explodes.

"I hope you know how immature you're being," Rachel tells him, later that night, once Sophie's been put in bed and he's just gotten comfortable on their couch. It's a nice couch, you know, but he's _so_ accustomed to his bed that it takes a minute to settle.

"I hope you know how selfish you're being," he snaps back, and he's glad he's not facing her so he doesn't have to see her face. He's so bad at fighting with her when he can see her reactions.

"Finn, come on. Let's talk about this rationally." She's in the living room, now, and sits daintily at the edge of the coffee table. "I want us to talk about this."

"What if I want to be irrational? You've been irrational your entire life, so I think it's my turn."

"_Finn Hudson_!" She looks so, so mad, but he can't let himself be swayed by her reactions. "Tell me what you're so upset about. We had maybe five minutes of conversation before you stormed out of our bedroom and slept on the couch, and then you slipped out the door and went to work before I got up and again, you were asleep here when I got back from my show late last night, and you know I hate waking you up."

He sighs, because he hates how much she loves him, sometimes, and then he remembers that she loves the stage more than she loves the man she married, so he says that.

"Excuse me?"

"I _think_ you understood." He hates how his voice feels, how his tongue sets in his mouth when he says, "I mean, you're not deaf or anything. You can still fucking sing, can't you?"

He thinks he may have really hurt her because she's making that face, you know, where her mouth falls open a little bit and she has to pinch her eyes closed for a few seconds to keep from crying. Her fingers fall into his knee, and she tells him in a shaking voice, "I don't know what I did."

"I told you about my job offer. You told me we're not leaving the city."

"I thought it was just a job sighting, Finn, and we can't leave the city because I—"

"Because you got offered another fucking lead?"

"Well, yes." She's blinking really fast, like she's trying not to cry or anything, and she used to never be afraid to cry in front of him.

"Rachel, I can't keep—I can't keep compromising my dreams for you."

"Compromising? Finn, you _asked_ to stay home with Sophie. You said you didn't want me to miss an opportunity—"

"—that was four years ago!"

"I'm not leaving New York City, Finn. I _belong_ here."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure I do."

"You belong with _me._"

"Do I? Or have we just been trying to prove everyone who said we couldn't make it in high school wrong?"

"Do you not love me anymore?"

He catches her wrist in his hand, wraps his fingers around the thin area completely. She's so small he thinks he could wrap his fingers two full times around her wrist. "Of course I do. Love you, I mean."

"Then—then what's the…what's the problem? Finn?" She brushes his forehead with his fingers. "Are you regretting marrying me?"

He doesn't want to tell her yes but he does. He wants her to hurt like he's hurting right now, and she slaps him so hard he thinks he'll have a handprint there forever, and she runs away and he barely manages to fall asleep because he's got regret hanging heavy in his stomach.

III.

In the morning, he realizes he's made a huge fucking mistake, but he can't take it back. And he hates himself a little (a lot) for being so vindictive. But, _god_. He's so tired of her not realizing how much his own dreams mean, and how much he needs her to validate them. To validate him. He's so over being that insecure kid from high school, but—with an award-winning wife, it's easy to feel glossed over.

She won't look at him in the morning. When Sophie bounds over to the couch to kiss him goodbye, she doesn't even smile like she used to, and he doesn't know what to say to her, how to fix things. She leaves for rehearsal and to take Sophie to preschool and she doesn't look at him, doesn't even react when he calls _goodbye_ after her and when she gets home at three with Sophie she locks herself in the bedroom.

Is he supposed to chase after her? He didn't—he didn't mean to hurt her like this, but he wants her to be the one doing the chasing, for once. He wants to feel like she loves him as much as he loves her.

When she comes out at dinnertime, she just sits at the table and he tries to ignore how puffy her face is, how red the rims of her eyes look. He's made her favorite and he watches her pretend not to smile and he thinks if they weren't so jaded he'd reach for her hand and pull her knuckles to his mouth. But he pretends not to smile, too, and Sophie's chatter fills the silence of the dining room. He offers to bathe Sophie and put her to sleep without saying much and Rachel stonily locks herself in her bedroom and he thinks he can hear her crying but he's not _really_ sure.

It's past two in the morning when he feels her shake him awake, and then she's kissing him and he almost loses himself in it because, _god_, even when he's mad at her he misses her so much. When she pulls away to breathe she's crying.

"I've never been this mad at you in my entire life," she breathes, and she kisses him again. Her mouth is hard and hot and she's never kissed him like this before. "I almost hate you but I can't hate you because I love you too much."

He grunts and doesn't say anything, and when her hand slips beneath the waistband of his pajama pants he grabs her hand and pushes it away. He's never pushed her away before. Isn't that crazy? He's _never_ pushed her away, but he feels like all she ever does is push him away.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want to do this right now," he says softly. "I don't—sex won't just fix things, Rachel. You're always trying to fix everything with sex but it'll—it'll only temporarily fix it."

"It hurts too much," she whispers, and her voice is gasping a little. "I just want—I want to be wanted."

He feels like he's dying slowly, because he wants so _badly_ to give her what she wants (him) but he can't, because it's not fair, and maybe that's immature. Maybe he's being stupid, but he doesn't think his dream is stupid, and he doesn't tell her that he wants her, too, even though he does, but instead, he says,

"Go to bed, Rachel," and his voice is low. "We can talk tomorrow."

"Why are you the one controlling this?"

"Because _you_ control it every other day of the week. I'm tired, Rachel."

"You don't just mean that in a lack of sleep way, do you," she says, and it's not a question. She knows him too well. "Finn, I—I don't ever want—"

"Please."

She's still straddling him, so she pushes off of him a little roughly and he hears the door very quietly click shut.

III.

They're at a bit of a standoff for the next few days, mostly because of Sophie. Sure, their romantic relationship may be completely ruined, but they're fucking awesome parents. Like, Sophie barely even notices they're fighting, or so he thinks.

Rachel's at work and he doesn't have job being a substitute so he literally wallows in misery for most of the day, and Sophie takes half days at preschool and she's her normal cheerful self. Her features are an echo of Rachel's, and her mannerisms as well, and he used to love that about her but now it just makes everything hurt all the more.

"Daddy," Sophie begins while he's showing her number flashcards, "you still love Mama?"

He doesn't even pause before he says, "Of course I do."

She blinks. "But—no cuddles?"

He sighs, shuts his eyes, thinks of how to phrase this. "Sometimes mamas and daddies go through hard times, sweet girl. But I'll always love your mama, and she'll always love me, and we will always, always and forever, love _you_. No matter where we go. Understand?"

She nods fervently, and then she starts humming a little song and he thinks she's moved on from the topic.

When Rachel comes home, Sophie bolts to the door, and he can't help but smile when he hears Rachel exclaim, "There's my sweet pea!"

He hears the baby squealing and giggling and Rachel's shared laughter, and Rachel puts her hand on his shoulder in passing, and he thinks that's maybe good. That she's touching him. Or maybe it's ominous, maybe she wants to have a talk later, and he thinks he should maybe organize his thoughts because he doesn't want to just blurt out things he doesn't mean or get so caught up in these feelings that he lies just to hurt her.

And later, when Sophie's bathed and smelling so sweet and Rachel's tucked her into bed, she sits beside him on the bed, and he's never _ever_ seen her so eerily calm. Rachel's the most emotional person he knows, and he hates himself so much for doing this to her.

Her voice is cool, measured, when she says, "You need to tell me _calmly_ exactly how you are feeling so that I can respond _calmly_ and so that we can fix this." Her voice is starting to do lift in pitch and volume because she's getting emotional, but she squeezes her thighs, says, "We have a baby, Finn."

"I know," he responds, and his voice is a little caustic, and he wishes he didn't feel like shit so he could be rational. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"Tell me," she begins, "tell me exactly what is wrong with me."

"It's—_god_, baby, when you put it like that—"

"—don't call me baby—"

"—when you put it like that you make it sound so awful."

"Isn't it true? Isn't there something wrong with me?"

He wants to take her face in his hands, wants to murmur _baby, no, never_ but he can't. Instead, he tells her, "I hate that you're writing off what I want."

"Finn, this city is our _home_."

"Rachel, _home_ is—it's us, together. Not this city. And I'm so, so sick of compromising things I want for you." He wants to touch her, to put his hand on her, to make her feel better, but he—he just can't. "God. We've been doing this since, like…since high school."

"I—"

"And it wasn't hard, then, because you know, it was still a dream. Broadway. But now it's your _life_, and it feels so horrible being second best in your life, always."

"You're not—you and Sophie—"

"The fact that you won't even _consider_ what I want, Rachel, _god_. I wish you could understand, but you don't, because I'm always going to love you more than you love me, and that makes me so, so sad."

She doesn't say anything, just folds her hands in her lap. "This isn't a good time to tell you, but…but I got a part in a new show. _Funny Girl_."

"You've—you've already _played that_, Rachel!" Maybe his voice rises a little, but _god_ he's so, so mad. "Rachel, I want this job. I want it more than—more than _anything_, and I'm not letting it pass me by."

"I need to be in New York, Finn." Her voice is dangerously loud. "We're not leaving. You can find other jobs, please don't make this about _you_ or us."

He thinks maybe she's on the verge of crying, but he says it anyway, "I'm making this about us. About me, and—and you need to choose. Me or the stage."

"I can't make that choice," she tells him quietly. "It would be like choosing between you or Sophie, Finn, I—"

"Then I'll make it for you," he says, and it's all a blur from there, grabbing his coat and shoving things in a bag and this feels so horrible, so much like those shitty Lifetime movies she used to make him watch with her when he thought she loved him more than anything in the world, and she's still standing in front of the couch, staring blankly, and he's got his fingers on the doorknob when a little body runs at his legs.

"_Daddy_, where are you going?"

He lets all of the air out of his lungs, crouches down and hugs her so tight. "I'm—I'm going away for a bit, sweet girl."

She's crying a little, and he can't look at her face or at Rachel, and she whispers, "When are you coming back, Daddy?"

"I'll—I'll see you tomorrow, Sophie, okay, Princess? I'm—I'm gonna pick you up from school, just like always. I promise."

His baby is smart and she doesn't look like she believes him. But she nods and he stands and Rachel crosses the room and picks her up and he can't look at either of them—his heartbroken girls—and he opens the door and closes it quietly behind him.

IV.

He can't believe he abandoned her. He wakes up the next morning, back sore from sleeping on Kurt and Blaine's couch, and his cheek is swollen because Blaine punched him and his eyes hurt because, _god_, he woke up in the middle of the night and started crying.

You know, he isn't even mad at Blaine for hitting him, because he kinda deserves it. Except the dude boxes, so it hurts more than a normal punch because Blaine knows how to really make it hurt, but _god_ he's an asshole. He's so horrible, and he picks up Sophie from school and she barely even talks to him, and when he asks her what's wrong (he's a masochist, he swears), her response kinda makes him want to die.

"You made mama cry," she says, crossing her arms over chest in a huff.

Life goes on. He gets a call from the principal from that school upstate, asking him when he can come in, and he stutters his way through _next week works best_ and ignores Rachel's calls.

When he calls her at one in the morning, she ignores his, and he's only been gone a night and half a day when his phone rings and it's Santana and all he hears for a moment is a string of Spanish curse words.

"Whoa, whoa, Santana, what's up?"

"Look, you son of a bitch, you need to get the _fuck_ home and—and be a fucking father and a husband because your _wife_ is a wreck. A mess, and—and you need to come home." She curses again. "I have never in my life been so mad at you, Finn Hudson."

"She doesn't need me," he says, "she's got Broadway."

Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. "Finn, I know she hurt you, working so much and being the selfish star we know and love. But she'd forget to eat if you didn't remind her, and she needs you, Finn, I'm—I'm so worried. Leaving was the worst thing you could've done."

"I just—we needed to step away."

"Stepping away is a walk in the park, not spending the night at your step-brother's and avoiding her calls."

He blinks, feels his heart ache. "Is she ever gonna forgive me?"

"Doesn't she always?" She sighs. "Just come back. I'm—I'm gonna take Sophie to my house tonight, for a sleepover, and you and Rachel need to work things out."

The apartment is unlocked when he comes home, and it's dark and quiet. It gets so dark so early, now, and he takes off his shoes and leaves them beside the door and hangs up his coat like Rachel likes. He shouldn't feel nervous, but he does, and maybe it's farther from nervous and it's more like anxious because he can see the light shining beneath the closed door of the bedroom and he doesn't know how she'll react but he needs to be a man and stop hiding.

He's quiet when he pushes open the door and the bedside light is on the medium setting and Rachel's curled on his side of the bed. She doesn't move when he says her name, but he slips into bed beside her and her body is heaving with sobs and he completely hates himself for doing this to her.

"Please don't—please don't leave me again," she says, and he's never heard her sound like that. She turns so she's facing him and he wants to hold her close, to make her feel better.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he whispers and he puts his hands on her waist and he holds her close and she's sobbing, again, and he just tells her over and over again that he's sorry, that he wants her to play Fanny, that he loves her and he didn't mean to hurt her so completely.

She's got her fingers curled over his shoulder and she's crying into his neck, still, and he rubs her back again and again until she stops shaking and her hand relaxes, flattens on his shoulder, and her voice is a little rough when she says, "I need—a bath."

She doesn't have to ask, but he picks her up and takes her into the bathroom. They're lucky the apartment they live in has one of those half-shower half-bath things because Rachel _loves_ baths. He sets her on the toilet and he wants to kiss her but he won't.

"Don't be too long, mermaid girl," he says, hoping it'll make her smile, and it does, and he thinks that's a little victory, making her smile like that even when they're as distant as they are, and he can't resist leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead.

He leaves her in the bathtub alone, because he thinks if he's in there with her, naked, he'll kiss her on the mouth and join her and they won't have a conversation, but he makes her hot chocolate because she told him once he made the best mug of hot chocolate she's ever had.

She's all wrapped up in this robe he got her for Christmas and she looks so damn cute with her hair knotted on top of her head and she sits across from him but he wants her (needs her) so much closer, but he understands the distance.

"Can I talk first?" He nods slowly. "Okay. Finn, I—my entire life, I've had my dream. My dream, and New York, were always so certain, and then you came in, and—and I always knew you loved me, even when you were with Quinn both times and I was with Brody, I have _always_ had you, and you leaving—Finn, that killed me."

He's about to interrupt, but she covers his hand with hers, stopping him.

"And it—it made me realize. That I can't just keep you here, like a trapped little bird, that I have to compromise like you have since we were kids, and I'm so sorry that I made you feel like your dreams didn't matter, Finn, because—because they do."

"I'll turn down the job," he blurts out. "I won't take it, I won't—"

"—you have to—"

"—if it means losing you, losing your New York, your certainty, I—"

"Don't you get it, Finn? I don't _need_ New York when I have you."

That makes him smile, and he stands and sits in the chair beside hers and he puts one hand on her face, rubs his thumb over the apple of her cheek, feels the skin warm and soft beneath his fingers and he thinks it's been too long since he's touched her this way. "I didn't mean it," he breathes. "Any of it."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he murmurs. "And leaving like that, god, that was immature, and I'm so, so sorry, and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, I swear. And I'm turning down the job, we're staying in New York, there are other jobs."

"I turned down the role. And I told my director, now, that I'm leaving." She shakes her head. "It's time, Finn, for me to move on."

"Rachel…you aren't giving up your dreams for me."

"You are my dream." She scoots her chair closer to his, puts her hands on his cheeks. "Besides, I want another baby, and I don't want to miss a thing like I did with Sophie."

"You…what?"

"Finn, you've really hurt me, you know. So, so badly, but I want to fix things from the inside. I don't just want to get a divorce and spend the rest of my life pretending I hate you when I love you like I do, because I'll never stop. You're my someone, Finn."

Her hands are on his thigh, and he turns his head and cups her cheek and he leans in slowly, keeps his eyes on hers like he did the first time they kissed, and they fall closed when his mouth presses, very lightly, against hers. It's nothing new but it's special all the same, because it's her. He hasn't kissed her like this, mouths open, hands frantic, in too long, but he lifts her onto his lap and holds her closer to him.

"I love you," she breathes, and leans in and kisses him again, and he'll never ever tire of kissing her because it's not fireworks or sparks it's a slow burn, it's gray light on a winter morning in a warm bed, it's everything, and when he needs air he tells her that he loves her so much, and she asks him to take her to bed.

V.

He wakes up to her kissing up and down his neck, her feet cold pressing against his calves and his feet and he groans a little because he's so, so tired, but she's kissing him and he thinks that maybe sex is more important than cold Rachel toes on his skin.

Her hands are warm, though, when they run over his shoulders and her mouth pauses on his clavicle and he sighs contentedly, and after she takes a shower all alone and he makes the bed for her because he knows it'll make her happy.

Things still feel a little raw, and they work through their issues all afternoon and things aren't perfect and things probably won't be the same but things are always changing when you've loved someone as long as he's loved Rachel. And besides, the yelling always ends in kissing on the couch, or their hips pressed together on the rug, and she asks him if they can move to a cozy house with a fireplace and he tells her he'll do anything for her and that gets him so many kisses pressed all over his face.

It's evening when Rachel tells him she's tired of talking and she just wants to cuddle on the couch and she must be emotionally drained because she falls asleep twenty minutes into _The Wizard of Oz_ and doesn't even wake up when there's a knock at the door.

"Daddy!" Sophie exclaims and she leaps towards him, hugs him tight around the legs.

"Hey, Santana," he says. "You wanna come in?"

"Is your wife here or did she leave you?"

"She's sleeping on the couch," he says, and grabs Sophie's bag from her arm. "And we—I should thank you, Santana."

"I just pushed you, is all."

He smiles at her and invites her in. Sophie's hurdling towards the couch where Rachel's sleeping and he picks her up midway through.

"_What_ do you think you're doing, silly girl?"

"Wakin' up Mama."

"Why's that? Am I not enough for you?"

She puts both her hands on his cheeks, shakes her head. "Nope."

He gasps dramatically and puts her on the ground. "I'm waking up Mama," he says, and he leans down and kisses Rachel on the forehead.

Her brow pinches and her eyelashes flutter and then they open. "Hi."

He presses his mouth against hers. "Hi, baby."

"You two disgust me," Santana moans. "Truly."

"Santana!" Rachel cries, standing up a little too quickly and she grabs onto his arm to steady herself. "Thank you so much for taking care of Sophie."

Santana shrugs and Rachel's got Sophie cuddled against her chest. "I like the little princess, and Brittany loves playing with her, too, so."

"D'you wanna stay for dinner, Santana?" Finn asks as he heads into the kitchen. "You can call Brittany, if you'd like."

"Ooh! Yes!" Rachel's clapping. "Please stay!"

"What're you making?"

"Probably pasta, and asparagus," Finn says. "And some sort of roll."

"Thank god you aren't a vegan anymore, dwarf," Santana says.

Rachel comes up behind him in the kitchen and wraps her arms around his waist. "Unfortunately for you, Santana, I'm also gluten-free."

"Yeah, so it's gluten-free pasta. But the rolls are real."

"Do you still drink wine?"

"On special occasions."

"Good _god_. Finn, how do you live with her?"

He thinks that could potentially make Rachel real sad, so he rubs her forearms slowly. "It's not hard at all, Santana," he says. "Not hard at all."

VI.

It's not, like, easy. Rebuilding their relationship, he means, especially since Rachel confesses to him that she doesn't really trust him like she used to, and that almost makes him cry. But she presses her palm against his stomach, rubs slightly up and down, and she tells him that it's not broken forever, that she's already on her way to trusting him again.

They don't really tell anyone about their fight, besides Kurt and Blaine and Santana. Even Brittany doesn't _really_ know, and he'd rather it this way. He still feels bad, you know, and Blaine still glares at him and he doesn't even remember _when_ Blaine became so close to Rachel, but it happened and it's whatever.

Kurt doesn't seem particularly moved, which makes him just roll his eyes, you know, because Kurt's pretty much the least supportive person of their relationship in the world, like, even less than Quinn or even fucking Brody or Jesse St. James. He doesn't ever tell Rachel this because she loves Kurt in this weird adoring way and he doesn't wanna break her heart (more than he has).

He takes the job upstate, and Rachel's so excited when they drive up to look at houses. It's only been a month since _everything_ but it all feels so much better, even better than when they were at their happiest in their marriage, and he thinks that's really good.

They find the perfect house. It's not huge, and he wants to give her the world, the biggest house they can afford, but as soon as they step into the small four bedroom Rachel falls in love. "It has a _fireplace_, baby," she murmurs excitedly as the realtor shows them around the family room.

"There's two bedrooms on this floor, and one in the basement and the master bedroom is upstairs."

"I love this," she tells Finn as they head upstairs. Sophie's got her hand clasped in Rachel's and she looks so, so confused. "Finn."

The master bedroom's got a fireplace and she decides there that she wants the house, and he loves to give her what she wants so he puts a bid in on the house, and just—just like that, Finn and Rachel Hudson have their first house.

VII.

They're cuddling in front of the fireplace in their bedroom, and he's about to kiss her when she covers her mouth with her hand and runs into the attached bathroom.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, stumbling after her into the bathroom. She's bent over the toilet, vomiting and _god_ he hates seeing her sick. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't answer and he rubs her back, and then goes into the kitchen and gets her crackers and water and he checks in on Sophie to make sure she's sleeping soundly, and she's all curled on her side and he smiles because she looks just like Rachel when she sleeps sometimes. His little mini-Rachel.

Rachel's just lying on her back in the bathroom when he comes back upstairs, and for a minute, he thinks she's like choked or something but she moans softly and he thinks she's still alive. Except, you know, last week they watched _The Secret Life of Bees_ and he remembers distinctly that that dead girl made some noise when she was dead.

But then she moves, and like, this isn't _The Walking Dead_ so he knows she's not a zombie or anything. He sets the water and crackers on the counter and he helps her to her feet.

"You gonna puke again or what?"

"I'm fine," she says, curving her hand over his shoulder. "Fine. Take me to bed, Jeeves."

"I don't think _anyone's_ Jeeves took them to bed the way I am about to right now."

"Wait, I need—Finn! I need to brush my teeth!"

"Fine, fine, but I'm never picking you up again." She sighs dramatically and he settles in bed, and she's gone a really long time, like, almost twenty minutes. "Baby, are you showering in there?"

"No," she calls back, and her voice sounds a little off. "I'll—I'll be right there."

He's just starting to fall asleep when she slips into bed beside him, wrapping her arms around his middle and she kisses his shoulder. "Finn, baby, wake up," she murmurs. "I have news."

"What kind of news could _you_ have," he whispers, "it's almost midnight and you were just puking your guys out five minutes ago. Wait. You don't have some Mayan flu, do you?"

"No, no, no," she laughs, and kisses his cheek. "These are _good_ news."

"Lay it on me, sweetheart."

She climbs on top of him, her knees on either side of his thighs, and she kisses his chin and her lips are a breath away from his when she tells him, "I'm pregnant."


End file.
